18. Chapter 17
Gray
We pull up to the restaurant twenty minutes later, and valets hurry to open the doors of the car for me and Ash. He slips both of them some money before he threads his fingers through mine and leads me inside to the ma?tre d’.
I feel like royalty as we enter the lavish restaurant. Celena is right. Fake or not, I need to enjoy the hell out of this while it lasts.
Ash’s hand rests on the small of my back as the ma?tre d’ leads us to an upper level with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the water.
The upper half of the windows and parts of the sides are made of stained glass in abstract designs of blue, green, and purple that are lit from outside and must look absolutely incredible when the sun is still out.
We get to our table, and Ash pulls out my chair for me. I can’t help remembering how I’d dreaded the thought of Barry doing this weeks ago, but all thoughts of Barry vanish as Ash’s hand skims along my shoulder before he takes his own chair.
The second we’re seated, waitstaff descend on the table. They pour water for us, hand us steaming towelettes that we use to wash our hands, and set down bread and a shot glass of what appears to be some kind of cold fruit puree.
“Would you like to see the wine list?” one of them asks.
Ash looks at me, and I nod at the waiter. “Yes, please.”
Something tells me I won’t find anything here in my price range, but I need to look out of morbid curiosity. Ash said he was ‘taking me out to dinner’ tonight, and I have a feeling he’ll insist on paying, but I still plan to order as if I’m covering my half of the bill.
The waiter hands me a tablet, and I start clicking on options to see what they have for wine. As anticipated, most of the prices are out of my comfort zone, but I’m determined to find something I can drink.
“I take it you like wine,” Ash says.
I give him an apologetic smile. “I love wine. I never developed a taste for beer. Do you like it?”
“I’ve never had good wine,” he says. “Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about it.”
“I’ve never had wine like this,” I admit, gesturing to the menu. “This is all a bit out of my normal fare.”
“Get whatever you want,” he says. “Don’t look at price. It’s my treat.”
I huff a small laugh as I continue to scan the options. “That’s very generous, but…Oh my God. Scarecrow.”
“What?” Ash asks.
I look up at him. “They have Scarecrow Wine. It’s a vineyard that was owned by J.J.
Cohn, who was an executive producer on The Wizard of Oz.
His land was right next to Inglenook, and the winemaker there convinced Cohn in the 1940s to plant grapes he could buy.
Now it’s basically a boutique winery that sells almost exclusively to members.
I didn’t even know restaurants could carry it. ”
“Maybe Chef Avery is a member,” Ash suggests.
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“Have we found something we like?” a waiter asks, appearing tableside as if conjured from thin air.
“We’ll take a bottle of the Scarecrow,” Ash says.
I look up at him in alarm. I could buy a used car for the price of the bottle. I mean, not a good used car, a clunker maybe, but still.
“Ash, the bottle is-,” I try to warn him, but he cuts me off.
“Scarecrow,” he assures the waiter, who takes the hint and scurries off before I can protest any more.
I stare at him, but he just shrugs.
“I like spoiling my woman,” he says.
I lean toward him. “I’m not actually your woman. We’re pretending, remember?” I say in a low voice.
His jaw clenches, and I lean back, aware I’ve upset him somehow.
“Until we officially fake break up,” Ash says, “you are my woman, and I plan to treat you like I’d treat someone I was dating.”
There’s a slight bite to his voice, and I nod slowly. Experience tells me I’ve wounded his masculine pride, but that doesn’t fit with the Ash I’ve gotten to know the last few weeks.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”
His face softens, and he shakes his head. “You didn’t offend me. I just get the feeling the men you’ve dated haven’t treated you very well, so the men you fake date will just have to make up for it.”
I can’t help the smile that creeps up my face. “You’re insane,” I say, too moved by the sentiment to adequately express my gratitude. Saying thank you seems too trite or maybe too intimate at the moment, so I opt for a mild insult to mask my discomposure.
In truth, I’m terrified by how Ash is treating me. I can’t fall for him. This situation is only temporary, and I’m heading for a world of hurt if I let myself make it real.
The waiter returns with the bottle and presents it to us. Ash looks at me for guidance, and I nod. The waiter opens the bottle and hands the cork to Ash, who looks confused. I try to mime smelling it, but he doesn’t understand and just hands it to me. I bring it to my nose and inhale.
Some people think you smell the cork to see if you like the scent and thus will like the wine, but what you’re really smelling for is cork taint. Sometimes bottles, especially older ones, can go bad, and a good whiff of the cork can usually tell you if there might be a problem.
On this cork, I only smell hints of cranberry, red currant, and maybe some baking spices. My mouth begins to water.
I nod to the waiter, and – having caught on – he pours an ounce of the wine into my glass. I swirl it and sniff, smelling the same things I got from the cork, plus maybe a hint of cocoa.
I take a small sip, letting it hang in my mouth before I swallow it down. I can’t help but calculate how much money that one sip just cost Ash, but sweet God, it was worth it.
I take another sip, and the wine feels like velvet on my tongue. The acidity of the berry flavors hits me, followed by more savory notes of cedar and tobacco on the finish, which linger.
People who don’t drink wine are often perplexed by how flavors like tobacco, fresh cut grass, wet stone, or graphite can be good, but for some reason, it just works in wine, and this wine works very well. Maybe not price-of-a-cheap-car well, but it’s damn good wine.
“Excellent,” I tell the waiter and set my glass down for him to fill it.
“Sir?” the waiter asks Ash after he’s poured my wine.
“Yes, please,” Ash says.
I watch Ash carefully as he sniffs the wine in his glass then takes a sip when the waiter leaves.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“I think I need red meat now,” he says.
I laugh. “A good bottle of red wine will do that.”
Gray
Forty-five minutes later, we’re both on our second glass of wine, and Ash is enjoying his with a medium-rare steak.
He let me try a bite, and it paired fantastically with the Scarecrow.
I almost regret ordering seafood, but my dish is so orgasm-inducingly good that I can’t bring myself to wish I’d ordered steak.
I wouldn’t normally drink red with seafood, but the lobster and scallop dish called to me, and we’d already bought the Scarecrow, so it is what it is.
The conversation is easy. Ash tells me more about his family and how he got into hockey, and I share the numerous ways my mother gets under my skin on a weekly basis.
We covered some personal things during our recent text exchanges, but they weren’t conducive to deep conversation, so this is our first time discussing a lot of these topics.
I also tell Ash more about Celena, who’s the only person on my end that knows we’re fake dating. Well, Celena and now Melinda.
“All the guys on the team know the relationship is fake, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, but they won’t say anything. It’s a PR issue, so they’ll tow the line,” Ash says.
He takes another sip of the Scarecrow. He’s taken to wine quickly, but I hope he doesn’t expect all wine to taste this good.
“Kelsier’s the only one who doesn’t believe it’s fake,” Ash adds.
“What? Why not?”
He shrugs. “He’s convinced there’s something between you and me.”
I look at him carefully. There’s a certain tone to his voice, almost as though he’s probing for my reaction to this news.
“What makes him think that?” I ask. I drop my eyes to my food, pretending I’m more interested in that than the answer to the question.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Just little things he thinks he sees about the way we act around each other.” He pauses. “Let’s say this was a real date. What would you do to show me you were interested?”
My fork stops halfway to my mouth as I look at him. His eyes are bright with interest, and I feel the challenge in the question. Maybe it’s the two glasses of wine, but he wants to push the date into flirtation, and it doesn’t take more than his nudge for me to willingly follow.
“Let me think,” I say as I bring the bite to my mouth. I close my lips around the fork, then slide it slowly back out as sensually as I can as I pretend to consider.
My hair is down tonight, so I reach up and push a stray lock behind my ear as I chew, then pull the rest back slowly over my shoulder to expose my neck.
The dress doesn’t allow me to show much skin, but this is the one place I can entice his gaze.
I arch my head to the side to display the column of my neck and gently run my fingers down the side as I pretend to think some more.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I suppose I’d try to draw your eyes somewhere you might want to put your mouth.”
I glance at Ash to see him sitting very still, his mouth parted, his eyes fixed on my neck.
“What about you?” I ask. “What would you do on a date to let a woman know you were interested?”
Ash drags his eyes away from my neck and smiles, realizing what I did. He puts his fork down and leans back in his chair. He crosses his arms over his chest, and his biceps bulge against the fabric of his jacket as he thinks.
“Me personally?” he says after a few seconds. “I’d find ways to touch her whenever possible. Like, I’d put my hand at the small of her back when we walk. Graze her shoulder when I pass by. ‘Accidentally’ grab the bottle of wine at the same time she does so our fingers touch.”